Pirate!
by kyria777
Summary: Luckily for you, Jack Sparrow gets his hands on yet another cursed object.


You've been running in the airy cottage glade for who knows how long- your clothes are soiled, your body unwashed and your hair a mess- all because of that damned tapestry. The leafy ground crunches and slips under you as you run to the coastline, hopefully to be successful in dropping the thing off a cliff. The tapestry's supposedly guarded with a spell which is only activated when someone unrolls the tapestry for aesthetic pleasure- and your father has done just that in an effort to pick a birthday present for his daughter. The only way to break the curse- and save your father from an otherwise bloody death- is to pass the tapestry on to someone else. Preferably, the someone else must be of an arguably rotten past... otherwise, why pass them the tapestry? But you've decided you don't believe in curses, and would much rather be satisfied with destroying the tapestry than lifting the curse from your father... even if the tapestry has strange markings in an unintelligiblehand on its underside.

You pass an old mansion-type building, very large, which seems to have been used to shelter troops as they hid from their enemies at war. There is a very large and very tall brick blockade in front of the house's backside, perfect for hiding and surprising from behind. The cliff is just beyond the house, outside of some trees and a nice woodsy area. You sprint. You're all set about shoving the stupid rug off, all your frustration taking over, when you hear a deep, rum-riddled voice.

"Hello?" you call out.

There is a rumble and a crash as the familiar noise of barrels and boxes crashing together ravages your eardrums. There is a thud, and the head of a man with a dark complexion and even darker eyes leers at you from over the wall. He narrows his eyes, squinting a bit, at the tapestry in your hands. "Where did you get that?" he asks.

Unfortunately for this man, you are on a bit of a schedule, andmaking polite conversationabout the thing that will quite possibly kill your father is not on it. You ignore him and tread on to the edge of the cove.

"Hey! Where did you get that?" the man yells, a bit insisting, as you scurry along past the brick blockade.

This is quickly becoming bothersome. You haven't got time for drunk hobos or abandoned, nosy minutemen, much less a scurvy p-

And then your brain starts to swim, images run through your head, and dialogue makes its way through your memories. This is no ordinary bum. Peering out over the wall, watching you run with the tapestry, and generally unsatisfied with the wholesituation is, in fact, the infamous pirate, Captain Jack Sparrow, himself.

And soon the voice is replaced with the noise of approaching footsteps, leaves crinkling louder under the feet as the man gets closer. In a flash he's got his arms linked with yours from behind, trapping you with fear and at the same time, providing a great deal of relief. Could you possibly get rid of the tapestry in his hands?

Keeping a puzzled expression, Jack turns you around in his arms and looks you straight in the eye. You're still clutching the tapestry, obnoxious old thing, close to your front while Jack grips your upper arms firmly with his scruffy, bejeweled hands.

"I'll ask you one more time, love. Where did you get that?"

You lie through your teeth, though looking into his deep, cavernous eyes seduces you to do the opposite. "It was a gift from my uncle."

Even Jack recoils a bit at your breath, at which you try not to notice.

"For my late birthday- I mean, the gift was late, I- er, he, um, got lost at sea and was forced to travel on land a long distance instead of coming directly to me."

Jack takes the tapestry from you, clearly having no interest in your explanation but much of it in the prize. He unravels it, to your surprise, and inspects it, turning it inside and out and upside down until he reaches the markings on the back. His brow furrows and his eyes shift to you and to the writing, then back and back again.

"Would you like to have it?" you blurt out, trying not to appear too desperate. "My uncle meant it for me, but I dislike the... the color. I can see it goes with your ...er, eyes."

Still gazing down at the tapestry, Jack's brows raise slightly. He looks at you.

"No payment in return?" you manage after a short, awkward pause.

Jack gives you a glance as if to wonder if you were daft, brows furrowed again. "I prefer to have my booty remain a challenge, if you don't mind."

"What do you mean?" you ask quickly, worried that your father will have to settle for belief and chance.

"It's not the way of a pirate to just... _accept_ ...a token treasure just... on a _whim_, y'see?" He smiles brightly at you, almost taking you off guard, a gesture waiting to ripple out in his hands. "A pirate's only as good as his plunder states he is, lass... and for a pirate to be given plunder... sort of takes all the fun out of it, wouldn't you say?" He narrows his eyes and nods his head, forcing you subconsciously to agree.

You decide to humor him... in your own way. "You're a pirate? You look more like a drunk _bum_ to me."

Jack rolls his eyes quickly and sets himself up to rattle off at you. "Listen, love, it may not be my business to be sayin' so, but if you are truly so stupid as to not recognize a pirate when you see one, I would stay home as much as possible if I were you."

Now it's your turn to raise your eyebrows. Did he just insult you?

You cross your arms and cock your head at him. "If either of us were to be recognized as a pirate, I daresay it would be me rather than you," you say, knowing very well that you're pushing his buttons. "At least I have the gall to sneak away with a treasure so powerful-"

"But it is powerful?" interrupts Jack.

You stop, looking a mite surprised. "...Yes."

Jack smiles. "Then I'll take it!"

Now he's beginning to get on your nerves. "Now hold on a second, you- you can't just- you can't take that without permission, it's truly vile and-" You stop. Jack's grinning at you, tapestry rolled under his left arm, a knowing glimmer in his eye.

"Pirate."

You watch, awed, as the man saunters off gladly with your would-be gift. Every man's trash is another man's treasure indeed, and your father's blood is spared with this pathetic thievery of your property. Relieved, you start to head back home. The curse is broken. ...For some, at least.


End file.
